ng of disappointment.

"Is all clear now?" she asked, roguishly.

Shakespeare rose, and, shaking one finger playfully at her, he said:

"Most clear is this--that Sir Guy knows well to choose in love;
although, an I read you aright, my Mistress Mockery, his wife is like to
prove passing mettlesome. For the rest, your lover knows poor Will
Shakespeare's secrets--his Macbeth and half-written Hamlet. 'Tis with
these you have made so bold to-day! My muse, in sooth! Oh, fie--fie!"
And he shook his head, laughing.

"Indeed! In very sooth!" said Phoebe, with merry sarcasm. "And was it,
then, Guy who brought me these same lines of Jacques the melancholy?"
And she pointed to the papers in his hand.

"Nay, there I grant you," said the poet, shaking his head, while the
puzzled expression crept once more into his face.

"Ay, there, and in more than this!" Phoebe exclaimed. "You have spoken
of Hamlet, Master Shakespeare. Guy hath told me something of that
tragedy. This Prince of Denmark is a most unhappy wight, if I mistake
not. Doth he not once turn to thought of self-murder?"

"Ay, mistress. I have given Sir Guy my thoughts on the theme of Hamlet,
and have told him I planned a speech wherein should be made patent
Hamlet's desperate weariness of life, sickened by brooding on his
mother's infamy."

"'To be or not to be, that is the question,'" quoted Phoebe. "Runs it
not so?"

"This passes!" cried Shakespeare, once more all amazement. "I told not
this to your friend!"

"Nor did I from Guy receive it," said Phoebe. "Tell me, Master
Shakespeare, have you yet brought that speech to its term?"

"No," he replied, "nor have I found the task an easy one. Much have I
written, but 'tis all too slight. Can you complete these lines, think
you?"

"My life upon it!" she cried, eagerly.

He shook his head, smiling incredulously.

"You scarce know what you promise," he said. "Can one so young--a
damsel, too--sound to its bitter deeps the soul of Hamlet!"

"Think you so?" Phoebe replied, her eyes sparkling. "Then what say you
to a bargain, Master Shakespeare? You know where Sir Guy Fenton may be
found?"

"Ay, right well! 'Tis a matter of one hour's ride."

"So I thought," she said. "Hear, then, mine offer. I must perforce
convey a message straight that touches the life and honor of Sir Guy. To
send my servant were over-dangerous, for there may be watchers on my
going and coming. Will you go, sir, without delay, if that I speak